Beyond Human Measures
by DeceiverShuuya
Summary: She hated the city; everything about it, she detested. The people are rude, the lights are blinding, the noise was unbearable. What was there to like? She asks herself this daily. Then, she asks to everyone, why am I here? No one ever answers her melodic voice and no one even looks her way.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I do not own Durarara!. All rights go to their original owners. The prologue is focusing on the mother of my OC; the story isn't centered around her.  
**

* * *

 **0.**

The moment she awoke, something felt amiss.

Perhaps it was intuition, maybe she was paranoid, but there was no denying that a sickening dread had settled within the pits of her stomach.

The room looked the same as before: the white walls remained blank, the pictures of her family were left undisturbed, the furniture was untouched. She could even feel the soft rise and fall of her husband's sleeping form beside her, his blissful ignorance unperturbed. The woman herself was healthy and unharmed; besides the feeling of something horribly awry, she felt utterly fine. So, what could possibly be wrong?

Maybe she was going insane? No, there was nowhere in her family tree that suggested mental illness and somehow, she knew this feeling to be more instinctual than misplaced. It was some unknown sense kicking in, a horrible estimation of all to come and what ill-begotten fate they will arrive to, the path inexplicably changing by a drop of a hat. The worse part was the helplessness that came with her prophetic inquiry: there was nothing to be done, nothing to change these new set of circumstances, whatever they were.

A sudden wail broke through the silence, muffled by the protective barriers of the walls and doors. Her logic registered it as their child, the baby with whom she proud fully called her own, the cute thing barely older than a newborn. The woman knew she should feel a slight mix of aggravation and fondness, the idea of getting out of bed and sleep to perform her motherly duties coupled with the love of their precious little girl. It always made her feel a wonderful sense of peace, but this time, it disturbed her.

The sound of the baby's cry deepened her sense of discomfort to an almost apprehensive dread, as if petrified by the idea of seeing the tiny thing in its crib. What was to fear exactly? There remained the problem: she truthfully had no idea. The fear seemed to blossom from her idea of a new set of Fates, the unknown present circumstances shifting the pathway of life into horrible configurations. But, what exactly were these new circumstances, these new surroundings?

Suddenly, it hit the woman like a brick wall.

The baby's wail. It was different somehow. There was no obvious change and she was willing to admit that it was perhaps identical to the others, but her gut thought otherwise.

That child-the one crying out for love and attention through the walls-wasn't theirs.

It was as if someone hotwired her nerves, her muscles quickly set into action and her brain running amok with horrible visions and thoughts. The woman did not bother to see if her husband drew himself awake by her sudden plight; she threw the comforter off her body and hurriedly ran of the room, slamming the door to the hall open. There was a resonating bang that could be heard, but she barely processed its existence, dashing towards another door on the opposing end of the hallway, the door that held the wailing child from within, the child that was supposed to be hers but never was.

She pushed it open with more force than necessary, not even using the doorknob and hearing it crash against the other wall with all of its momentum, causing the young baby to shriek with fear. The woman, who usually withheld sympathy for her own daughter, did not even feel remorse for startling the tiny thing. Trembling with fear, she walked towards the crib with faint and faltering steps, scared of what she may discover, of what is now the cruel imitation of her sacred child.

Upon finally reaching the encaged bed, she cast an apprehensive gaze inside of it, her blood turning cold at the sight. The baby looked no different than it ever did before; in fact, one could say it looked completely identical to her own child. But, she knew it wasn't her daughter.

It was a girl, tiny and pink, tears rolling down its cheeks as it reached out blindly for a body, her body. But she didn't pick it up, she didn't touch it.

"Chinatsu…?" came the soft, sleepy voice of her husband, his eyes burning into the back of her neck with confusion. "Chinatsu, I think you scared her."

However, she didn't react, merely stared bleakly at the tiny and wailing flesh, wondering the consequences of her killing it. Her husband said her name over and over again, the woman still not responding to his somewhat distressed calls. She could not even muster any strength in her limbs to move aside as he brushed past her, touching the baby and picking it up, shushing it, trying to calm the child down, "It's fine, Kazumi...Daddy's here for you...shhhh...you don't need to cry…"

Slowly, the wails died down to a tiny whimper, the man holding it firmly as he repeated their daughter's name, seemingly deceived by this illusion.

The woman knew better, though.

That wasn't their Kazumi.

* * *

 **A/N: I just want to say, if you have read this, thank you very much for doing so and I hope you continue reading this story as well.**


	2. Chapter 1

**1.**

Kazumi was a solitary creature.

She had no friends, was single, and she avoided her family whenever possible. She lived alone with no pets of any kind and she rarely talked to anybody out of recreation. To say the least, the young woman was quite socially inept.

And, that was just fine.

The apartment complex reeked of cigarette smoke, the cheap kind one could easily find in a back alley gas station hidden deeply within Ikebukuro's underbelly. It wasn't necessarily a pleasant smell, but Kazumi barely noticed it. After so many years of walking into gray breath and intoxicated air, one typically gets used to it. And, it wasn't as if she was going to complain.

After all, most of that was because of her.

Kazumi tries her best to smoke outside whenever possible, but lately, rotten weather has plagued the bustling city, causing her to take her addictions inside to avoid the rain. Most restaurants and other businesses don't seem to appreciate her smoking in their lounges, and bars weren't really her sort of thing, so the only option she truthfully had at the moment was her own home. Kazumi didn't particularly mind however; after all, no one was going to come visit her anytime soon and the scent of it, though unpleasant, was calming in and of itself.

The young woman shuffled quietly to her couch as she calmly shut the door, a soft click marking the end of her long journey. Kazumi shedded herself of the black and dripping trench coat, hanging it absent-mindedly on the back end of one of her chairs before plopping down tiredly onto the old couch. Like everything else in her home, the tan sofa had a strong odor of nicotine and cheap air, enough to even make her gag and ponder the uses of her scented candles hidden away in some far off cabinet and covered in dust. It only really bothered her after travelling about outside for some hours before coming home, and that became less and less of an occurrence.

Kazumi only really left for work and stayed inside whenever she had the day off. She hated humans, and she hated having to deal with them more when she could've easily avoided it. That is, if they bothered to realize her presence. The woman was not particularly noticeable, something she was rather grateful for due to her intolerance of other people. However, on occasion that someone **does** happen to see her, it was usually hard for them to turn away or leave her be.

If they didn't approach, they would often stare, starstruck and agape. She wasn't sure which was worse: the talking or them being too utterly amaze to even look away. However, Kazumi decided that both reactions were equally bad and equally annoying. It was much better to remain unseen or to be nowhere than end up in that thick of trouble.

The young woman was not sure what it was that made her so damn interesting; she looked pretty normal, pretty human, even though she's certain she's anything but. And, it wasn't as if she was famous or something-in fact, if she was, then Kazumi would never bother leaving the house for anything. Alas, there was money to make and debts to pay-she couldn't stay inside forever.

Nearer to the center of Ikebukuro than she would prefer was a small and simple coffee shop under the tag of Burakkusuwanpukōhī (Black Swamp Coffee, for the English tourists). That was where she worked, standing behind a counter and hurriedly making strongly-scented beverages for those waiting impatiently beside the wall. She rarely dealt with the customers, however; if any bothered being exceptionally rude to her, they usually got scorched by more than just the hot liquid residing in their hand. Kazumi began gaining a reputation for it, at least in the underground world of coffee making. It seemed most customers were too scared to even admit their order when she was around, frightful of how stinging her verbal assault would become.

And, that was just fine.

The woman tugged off her slick, black combat boots with the ease of an expert, rubbing her aching feet to soothe the soreness from within. When that was quickly handled, she laid her head on the armrest of the sofa, hands flicking out another cigarette from the confines of her pocket and placing the colored end into her mouth. Kazumi could already taste the smoke before she lit it, inhaling the fumes as her green eyes stared listlessly at the ceiling, seemingly disinterested. As a cloud of smoke escape her lips, the maiden sighed tiredly. "What a long and horrendous day." Kazumi muttered, taking in another drag before letting the gray mist tumble out of her mouth.

The intake stung a little-the woman disliked the feeling of chapstick and would often spend days with cuts open on her pink lips, making the addictive repetition of smoking rather uncomfortable. Still, it never really bothered her.

Then again, not a lot of her habits do.

They may seem fairly infuriating to other people, but she never really cared. Kazumi was not necessarily easy to offend, not unless one starts to take advantage of it. She does not appreciate being pushed around or being used as someone's personal doormat; that was cowardice to her, to depend on someone else's needs, to erase all that is you for someone else's impossible desires.

Or, are those sickeningly sweet couples she's complaining about?

Oh, what was the point. Whatever it was, they are both one and the same, so why distinguish it as any different?

Kazumi released another breath of horrid toxins before shuffling onto her side, reaching the remote atop the small coffee table, and flickering on the TV to abide the last few precious hours of the day. There was her phone, but the only thing she could really use on there was the music app; everything else were social blogs downloaded to maintain contact with any remaining relative.

Not that it mattered; she barely went on anymore. Kazumi found herself being rather rifled by the ignorant pretenses of other users to the point where her mood deteriorated rapidly. Once, she became so angered by its inhabitants that her old phone met an untimely demise. Kazumi could still see the mark where her phone shattered on the wall from here; some days, it made her burst into a giggling fit.

Mostly because, she was delirious as hell, but there was a certain amusement to it. Remembering the face of the poor lad who worked at the electronic store was enough to send anyone into a tizzy; he genuinely thought Kazumi had super strength enough to perhaps challenge Ikebukuro's strongest, which was utterly absurd. She could barely lift her own table, let alone a vending machine. The only thing going for her was her pitching arm, and that would certainly not do in a brawl.

If not, then certainly she could dish it out against the Black Rider?

Not a chance. Kazumi was no fighter, no lover...she wasn't really anything, just Kazumi. Typically, the maiden avoided all manners of difficulty, even at the expense of her own loneliness.

But, that was just fine.

* * *

 **Kanra entered the chatroom**

 **Kanra: Hello, hello~ Anyone hereeeee~?**

 **Taro Tanaka entered the chatroom**

 **Taro Tanaka: Hey, Kanra!**

 **Taro Tanaka: Long time, no see!**

 **Kanra: How's it going, Taro? Not much I see~**

 **Kanra: This chatroom is surprisingly empty. What have you guys been up to?**

 **Setton entered the chatroom**

 **Setton: Hey**

 **Setton: What's up?**

 **Taro Tanaka: Setton! Great to hear from you again!**

 **Kanra: Ah, the old gang is back together~!**

 **Kanra: Now, let's fill up these empty spaces, shall we?**

 **Kanra: Oh**

 **Kanra: Have you guys ever heard of a changeling?**

 **Setton: A changeling?**

 **Setton: Sounds awfully familiar.**

 **Taro Tanaka: A changeling?!**

 **Taro Tanaka: What's a changeling?!**

* * *

The rain had finally stopped coming down, but the gutters were still at work, the sounds of gurgling water crashing upon Kazumi's ears as she stepped onto her aerial balcony. The chilly night air wrapped around her shoulders, the sounds of busy streets muffled by the cold concrete of her aerie.

Her cigarette burned out a few hours ago and she wasn't in the mood to dig out another one, especially since the wind was particularly volatile tonight. Kazumi would end up with more smoke in her eyes than any in her blood, defeating the purpose of its addiction. Even so, the scent of wet ash still caused a thirst in her, a stirring of the senses for another deadly dose of nicotine pumping through her veins.

The woman made a mental reminder to dump out the contents of that ceramic ashtray sitting a mere few feet away, the cause of that atrocious stench.

Kazumi crossed her arms and leaned over the side of railing, watching with an impassive stare at all the little people passing beneath, wondering with mischievous intents in mind. If she were to rid of the contents of that repulsive ashtray, what would happen if it soaked into someone's hair? But, she suppressed the urge. As much as it seemed tempting, those days of hers were over, and she was in no mood for dealing with unhappy individuals. The chance will have to pass.

The young woman jumped as she felt a small vibration in her back pocket, recalling quite clearly that she shared no numbers with anyone as she took out the source. Her phone was fairly modern; a touchscreen Apple that was still able to fit in the palm of her hand. The caller remained anonymous-the words _Blocked_ were the only thing to hint to Kazumi's mysterious communicator. However, it wasn't enough to cue any sort of memory beyond a few disagreeable fellows she conversed with and an information broker that doggedly persisted after her.

She had a feeling that it was neither.

Kazumi accepted the call, clicking the green button with her thumb and holding it next to her ear. "Hello?" she greeted warily, voice ringing with a tremor in its strangely melodic depth.

"Has anyone told you that you look good in red, Nana-chan?"

* * *

 **Kanra: They're a sort of myth, if you were.**

 **Kanra: Like the Black Rider**

 **Kanra: But much more hidden.**

 **Setton: Aren't changelings those faerie babies?**

 **Setton: The ones that full-grown faeries swap with human babies?**

 **Kanra: Yes, exactly like that~**

 **Kanra: You know your myths quite well, don't you, Setton~?**

 **Setton: The simple ones, at least.**

 **Taro Tanaka: Excuse me, but why bring this up?**

 **Taro Tanaka: It's not as if they're real, right?**

 **Kanra: Well…**

* * *

"Is that all, Tom?"

"Yeah, that should be the last house."

Shizuo nodded as his co-worker appeared from their latest destination, carrying what seemed to be a briefcase filled with the debts they managed to pocket out of today. It was getting fairly late, and the blond was starting to get tired walking around the city, wishing to hurry back home and get to sleep before midnight came upon him.

The two of them set off on a leisurely pace, Shizuo taking a drag of his burning cigarette before letting the smoke enveloped the air above him. He repeated this a couple of times before he heard Tom clear his throat, obviously trying to expel of whatever toxins he gathered. The man turned over to apologize to the senior before he caught a flash of red, a splash of scarlet leaning against a gray stone building, smoke emanating from underneath its hidden features. Seeing more clearly now, he realized that Tom was coughing not from _his_ cigarettes but from the mysterious stranger they were passing.

 _There's something odd_ , he thought, _It doesn't smell like normal cigarettes_. Call it paranoia or what you will, but Shizuo knew instinctively that there was something in fact off about this stranger. The aure they were portraying wasn't necessarily sneaky, but it was suspicious and he came to expect that those burning cancer sticks weren't the kind one would find easily in convenient stores.

The smoke smelled...somewhat sweet and a little sharp, like mint, but with some weird ashy tang to it. It was familiar, but nothing in his mind could conjure up a picture of what exactly made it so. Now that he thought about it…

That stranger seemed oddly reminiscent as well.

* * *

 **Kanra: I'm sure you have all heard of the infamous Scarlet Baron by now~**

 **Taro Tanaka: Scarlet Baron?**

 **Taro Tanaka: What's that?**

 **Setton: Another Ikebukuro urban legend?**

 **Kanra: Whaaaaat?!**

 **Kanra: You never heard of the Scarlet Baron?!**

 **Kanra: Shame on you, I expected more.**

 **Kanra: Especially from you, Setton!**

 **Setton: I can't claim to know everything, Kanra.**

 **Kanra: Hmph.**

 **Kanra: Anyway, it's not an urban legend.**

 **Kanra: It's a criminal~**

 **Taro Tanaka: Huh?!**

* * *

Shizuo heard a sudden drop, and realized suddenly that Tom was slumped on the ground, unconscious, and that he himself was starting to sink down. The blond felt himself bubble up with rage, pushing back the sweet sensation of sleep somewhat enough for him to focus all his attention on the source of the evil.

The red-clad stranger looked to be a woman, appearing no taller than what he was in high school, her facial features all obscured by a broad-brim hat. She was rather flashy-a target that wouldn't be easy to miss. However, as he tried to strike at her, his anger boiling over, the sharpening tang of that palling cigarette lulled over him, causing him to go down on one knee in exhaustion.

 _Dammit, what is that shit?!_

* * *

 **Kanra: Apparently, there have have been these phenomenons across town of things being stolen right out from under people's noses.**

 **Kanra: All the victims report different stories, but there is one consistent trend in each version.**

 **Kanra: There's always a stranger dressed head to toe in red with a beautiful sounding voice.**

 **Kanra: Some claim it's a woman, others have no idea~**

 **Kanra: I like to believe it's a man!**

* * *

"I'm sorry," came her voice, the image of pleasantly ringing bells coming to mind, "I don't want to do this, I really don't, but I've got money to make and debts to pay. I'm sure you understand." As Shizuo felt himself slip into submission, his head was immediately caught from hitting the ground by a gloved hand, his senses suddenly being overwhelmed by that accursed stench. The stranger gently placed him down and patted his hair, causing him to emit an angry growl. Shizuo heard a sigh.

"I'll make it up to you guys, I promise."

The last thing he saw before he succumbed to sleep, was a flash of green eyes and the collected debt money being taken away.

* * *

 **Setton: Alright, but what does that have to do with anything?**

 **Setton: What connection is there to the Scarlet Baron and changelings?**

 **Kanra: Rumor out there suggests otherwise~**

 **Taro Tanaka: Huh?**

 **Taro Tanaka: What kind of rumor is that?**

 **Kanra: They say the Scarlet Baron was in fact a changeling it(her?)self.**

 **Kanra: Not really scary, but isn't it interesting?**

 **Kanra: Imagine**

 **Kanra: A faerie dressed in all red stealing people's belongings like it owns the entire world**

 **Kanra: It sounds like a plot of an anime~**

 **Setton: Right**

 **Setton: Anyway, I gotta go**

 **Setton: I'm meeting up with someone**

 **Taro Tanaka: Oh, alright!**

 **Taro Tanaka: See you later, Setton!**

 **Kanra: Bye bye, now~**

 **Setton left the chatroom**

 **Taro Tanaka: Kanra?**

 **Taro Tanaka: I have a question**

 **Kanra: Hm~?**

 **Taro Tanaka: Have you ever seen the Scarlet Baron?**

 **Kanra: Not in person**

 **Kanra: No**

 **Kanra: But I've seen plenty of pictures from witnesses~**

 **Taro Tanaka: Huh**

 **Taro Tanaka: Interesting**

 **Taro Tanaka: I should go too**

 **Taro Tanaka: See you tomorrow, Kanra**

 **Taro Tanaka left the chatroom**

 **Kanra: Talk to you later, Taro Tanaka~**

 **Kanra: I suppose I should head out as well~**

 **Kanra left the chatroom**

* * *

Izaya pushed himself away from the computer, smile evident on his face as his personal secretary threw a file atop his desk, sighing with absolute contempt.

"Here's what you requested. The file on Nanashi. Such a peculiar name and such a little folder. Do you even know who this is?" Namie said, sitting down in an opposing chair with probing eyes, ready to pick apart the raven-haired man's weaknesses.

He only laughed at the young woman, taking the stack of paper and setting it beside his desk, flipping out a phone and staring at a contact number he came to be familiar with. "No, not at all. But I plan to." Izaya answered, his crooked smile spreading.

The secretary only sighed again and stood up once more, gathering her things before heading towards the exiting door. "I'm going home. I had enough of your twisted game for today." she departed with, leaving without even remotely looking back.

Izaya didn't even bother to answer, smirking as his fingers wavered over a name, a name he burned in the back of his mind, a name with interest piqued.

"Tsukino Kazumi. How many lives do you plan to lead, huh?"

* * *

 **Thank you for reading this far, if you have. Leave a review, if you like, and I hope you continue along with this story. ^^**


	3. Chapter 2

**2.**

It was a cold, dreary morning.

The droplets of rainwater chilled her to the bone and soaked through the warm confines of her brown trench coat, combat boots squelching in the collected rainwater along the walkways. The skies stretched on in neverending shades of monotonous grays and whites, the ideal ocean firmament from hours ago long forgotten. The city, though breathing, was startlingly quiet. People spoke in hushed whispers, cowering behind large umbrellas, wearing oversized clothing of drab color. Bright, vibrant shades of signs and lights dimmed, shiny buildings dulled; Ikebukuro was grievous.

 _If the city could weep-if all these buildings and people share each other's loss,_ she thought, _would this be the result?_

A dark gray, cloudy morning with no sun to warm the streets-only ice, cold rain pelting along in chilly drips to welcome your company, the city moving yet stagnant, a hush whisper. With all signs of possible life brought to a halt, donning dreary masks made of stone...Will this be Ikebukuro in mourning?

A red light turned white. Kazumi took a careful step onto the street, melding herself into a silent crowd of passersby, black hair dripping with liquid fragments. Everyone around her seemed so slow, so miserable, like a cat drowned in bathwater...She wondered for a moment if she had missed a funereal procession a mere moment ago, caught in a wake of depressed mourners following suit. _If so, who died?_

Maybe it was her.

Maybe it was Nanashi.

She took a step onto the next walk, barely ahead of the traffic light, catching a small glimpse of crimson reflecting in large puddles forming atop the street. Gently, she brushed past two high school boys going the opposite direction, only managing to see their uniform and nothing more. _Raira students. Nana-chan used to go to Raira._

Kazumi had often times passed the school along her way to work-it was typically the shorter route and was much more convenient than the current one she partook. However, due to certain reasons-none that she wants to particularly delve into-she had changed directions. It seemed that there were certain places the young maiden did not want to go back to…

 _No, I never went to those places. Nana-chan has; Kazumi never did._

With this thought in mind, the female pressed forward, baring no more recognition of those painted blue sleeves, erasing all avenues of the past as she kept walking towards an indecipherable future. The rain grew slightly colder, the world became slightly darker. The skies have seemed to have more clouds than before...if such thing could be possible. Kazumi paid no mind. After all, the world could go to hell in a teapot for all she cared, humans and monsters alike. It made no difference to her.

For a moment, Kazumi paused, looking at the ground as water poured from above, people walking by speedily under grim umbrella covers as they spoke of things in quiet whispers. Warmth flooded out of a store, a bright light cascading out onto the walk like golden sun, the window portraying little ceramic dolls, western-made. The female walked a little closer, her green eyes peering at a transfixed gaze; she was much too old for toys, but something piqued her interest.

It was a tiny thing, separate from the collection as a whole, laying flat on its back on the centerpiece of the display. The doll was pale, its ceramic skin painted with little coils of black spirals and waves, eyes wide and brimming of jaded hope. Tiny ringlets of ebony curls sprouted from its head and danced along the slender shapes of its shoulders, delicate hands pinned to the side of its fragile legs. It wore a bright red dress, decorated exquisitely with pearls and white stitchings. Its tiny feet were held captive by black books, thin and latched by silver buckles lacing across the ankle.

 _My father used to give me dolls…_

If but for just a second, her oculars grew wistful, her face falling into a reminiscent hue, mind wandering and grasping onto petty straws she could no longer see. Odd fragments of memories popped up, memories that brought a whiff of aftershave and cinnamon, memories that rang with a hearty laugh. Things she thought she would forget cropped up like unrelenting tears; Kazumi tried to hold it back, but the more effort brought, the more intense they became.

The maiden quietly looked away and hurried along the walk, trying to erase the images playing along stubbornly in her head. However, Kazumi kept thinking about that doll, the little thing abandoned on the centerpiece, smiling bitterly onto a world that has forgotten its existence, the cruel loneliness that crushed its hopes and desires. It was like looking at a reflection and seeing all the parts of yourself you never want to see it again…

 _That was Nanashi. Kazumi looks nothing like that doll._

Kazumi never had hopes, never had desires or dreams. She knew the world was cruel, unrelenting...She had no sympathies for humans, monsters, parasites...She had none for any who dwell within this realm.

She never cared for the world nor would she ever try.

It was the only way to keep her from heartache and blame. She will never end up like Nanashi, never in this way. She was smarter, wiser; Nana-chan was a silly, naive girl who died in the bitter realities of Ikebukuro. Under all that chimerical nonsense was a dreaded beast that ate everything and ate nothing; it was a cruel beast that sought to end her suffering.

 _I will never end up like Nanashi. If I don't suffer, I won't be swallowed whole._

Pushing away the last of her thoughts with this, Kazumi allowed herself to enter a throng of people, head down and eyes cast towards the ground as the rain pelted on.

 **Setton entered the chatroom**

 **Setton: Hello?**

 **Kanra entered the chatroom**

 **Kanra: Setton~!**

 **Kanra: How nice to see you again!**

 **Kanra: What prompts you at this lovely hour?**

 **Setton: Oh**

 **Setton: Hey Kanra**

 **Setton: A friend of mine just recently called**

 **Setton: Apparently, he's been robbed!**

 **Kanra: Robbed, huh~?**

 **Kanra: Could it possibly be…**

 **Kanra: THE SCARLET BARON~?!**

 **Setton: I don't know**

 **Setton: Maybe**

 **Setton: He says he can't remember anything from the night before**

 **Setton: Just that he woke up in the middle of a street**

 **Kanra: Wait, he was knocked out?**

 **Kanra: Aw, man~**

 **Kanra: That's disappointing~**

 **Setton: Wait, what do you mean by disappointing?**

 **Kanra: Having someone knocked out…**

 **Kanra: That doesn't sound like the Scarlet Baron's MO.**

 **Setton: MO?**

 **Setton: Like, it's not their style?**

 **Kanra: Yeah**

 **Kanra: Most people are conscious whenever they get robbed by the Baron**

 **Kanra: Usually, they're pretty wide awake!**

 **Kanra: Security guards often lose precious museum items with no recollection of anyone even getting in!**

 **Kanra: It's pretty bizarre~**

 **Setton: Huh**

 **Kanra: You know…**

 **Kanra: They could actually be a legit faerie child**

 **Setton: It's probably just a made-up rumor**

 **Setton: No one has a power of invisibility**

 **Kanra:...Or do they?**

It was Kazumi's turn to take the register.

She was not a people's person; as such, the job was an ill-done one. Most customers who were regulars knew better than to elicit prompt action; however, a good number of others were always surprised by her impassive behavior. Kazumi was languid, easily agitated, and remarkably mean during morning hours; one can imagine how well this transpires at the counters. When one makes an order, she does her job directly and effortlessly; however, when customers proved to be difficult-criticizing her or otherwise-she typically goes the extra step to put them in place.

Kazumi has found no reason to explode yet. None of the customers seemed rude or impatient this morning-perhaps they found a calm respite inside the warmth of the coffeehouse. If they were taking too slow, then the regulars had certainly found gratitude in staying out of the rain and chill.

As she finished up one of the earlier orders, the entrance bell rang, introducing another pair of customers for her to tend to. Without showing her natural aggravation, the female stood back up at the beginning and greeted them.

"Welcome to Burakkusuwanpukōhī. How may I help you?"

The duo perked up in what seemed to be surprise; at this point, Kazumi took a glimpse at their faces. Immediately, she recognized Ikebukuro's strongest, the infamous Shizuo Heiwajima; however, it took her a few moments to register his lesser known friend. He certainly stood out in his own right-a man of African descent wearing glasses and hair coerced into dreads, a different peculiarity than that of tall, blond Shizuo. Still, he had nothing to pronounce any recognition or fame, nor was he a regular she grew familiar with.

 _I don't think even Nana-chan knows who this is._

The darker man cleared his throat, uncomfortably fixing the collar of his jacket. "Uh, sorry, I didn't see you there for a second…"

The maiden waved her hand dismissively. "Never mind that. What's your order?"

Her brusque manner must've set him on edge; he seemed somewhat flustered by how easily she brushed aside his apology, without even accepting it pleasantly. Kazumi particularly didn't care; she just wanted to move them aside. After he managed to formulate a couple of set drinks, the female nodded and sent it to the brewers. "It should be done shortly."

"Right, thanks."

The darker-skinned man went ahead, but Shizuo lingered for a moment, looking at her in a somewhat perplexed manner. If he wasn't who he was, Kazumi would've snapped a retort in retaliation; however, that never typically ends well with Heiwajima. Instead, she decided to ignore it and continue along her way, managing to block out his concentrated gaze if but for a brief moment. Slowly, he had moved on his way towards his friend, carrying the question in his shaded oculars with him.

"...going to be angry with us."

Hearing them, Kazumi let her oculars fall on the pair, emeralds flashing in sunlight, but unnoticed in the natural lowlight setting of morning. Along with her eyes, her ears began to pick apart their sentences, catching them in full clarity.

"What the hell even happened last night?"

Shizuo shrugged. "Dunno...I don't even remember how we got there."

A heavied sigh. "Man, this is not going to go well. If we don't find a way to get that money back, the boss is going to have our heads on a spike."

"I would like to know who the hell took it. That way I can at least beat them to a bloody pulp. Who the steals money like that anyway?!"

At this, Kazumi turned aside the conversation, deciding that her curiosity has been sated enough. She began to clean the counters as the two were handed their beverages, quietly making their way to the door, ignoring her presence.

"Hey."

The female looked up, green eyes staring at a pair of sunglasses. "Yes?"

Shizuo seem to pause for a moment. "Have we met before?"

A tense silence filled the shop.

Kazumi huffed. "No. You're confusing me for someone else."

The blond seemed to not believe her for a second, but then shrugged with an irritated sigh. "Whatever. Let's go, Tom."

As the ringing of the bell faded off into silence, Kazumi wiped the counter clean. She let her eyes travel momentarily to the handle if but for a brief moment.

 _You know Nana-chan. No one knows Kazumi_


End file.
